


so we fall back down (but everybody does)

by jessng



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst disguised as fluff, M/M, Morning Cuddles, Pining James, Pre-Kerberos Mission, The Fool - Freeform, but he doesn't realize he's pining, fucc and succ not depicted, like even before the mission was announced, not proofread because that's how we roll, yes they went and did the fucc and succ
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-27 00:16:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15674160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessng/pseuds/jessng
Summary: Keith was fire. James wore armor around his heart. Said armor was made of paper and it was about as effective as a bandaid to a stab wound.





	so we fall back down (but everybody does)

**Author's Note:**

> the james/keith tag is filling up so quickly and it makes me happy but all i can write is angst

James’s room was one of the lucky few that had a window, although “lucky” may have been a relative term. The Galaxy Garrison was smack dab in the middle of the desert, where the only things to gander at were the white roofs of adjacent buildings. James always thought of windowed rooms as overhyped anyway.

Often, he found that the only thing even worth having a window for was the sunset, and even  _that_  got old fast, because desert sunsets were breathtaking the first few times you see one, then you grow accustomed to them and stop paying attention. You start looking at and focusing in other things instead, like homework and flight sims and that other cadet in your room who’d decked you in the face that one time you’d mentioned his  ~~dead~~  parents.

Safe to say, James completely forgot about that window just days after moving in. 

 

Keith’s hair, despite its bad styling, was oddly soft, almost like cat fur, but longer. 

James couldn’t help the guttural laugh that escaped his throat at the comparison. A grin tugged at his lips as his mind flooded with the image of an oversized cat nuzzling into the crook of his neck, seeking warmth despite radiating it himself. Again, James ran his hand through the silky dark locks that would inevitably become a tangled mess of a bedhead. Keith's head was heavy and it numbed James's entire shoulder, having taken residence there since the night before. 

James reveled in the discomfort, to the surprise of himself.

On Sundays, cadets were allowed one more hour of sleep. It was heaven-sent, for the most part — an entire hour to laze around before diving back into rigorous coursework and simulations. James never really felt a need for the extra hour, the habit of waking up at five baked into his bones, but that was way before the reassignment of his roommate. 

Sunlight streamed into their room, warming the back of James's hand (buried, still, in Keith's hair) and illuminating a corner of Keith's sleeping face. For a moment, it caught James off-guard, because Keith looked celestial, bathed in golden sunlight, like something out of this world. Keith appeared beautifully reminiscent of how he did during the night, drenched in moonlight, writhing atop James or shaking and sighing beneath him, the tantalizing slope of his back burnt into the back of James's mind. 

Early morning Keith and midnight Keith were two different people in one lithe body. There was a calmness, almost serenity, to his morning expressions and demeanor that James couldn't find anywhere when they exchanged sloppy, desperate kisses in the dark. Keith was a force of nature, make no mistake, but he was a combination of two complete opposites, and it somehow worked. On James.

The throb from Keith's right hook returned, sometimes, like a ghost seeking vengeance, and it left James wondering how the hell they ended up cuddling on his bed almost every morning. Keith was as much of an enigma as James's own questionable feelings toward him. No. Whatever it was that they were having was a conundrum in the first place, because James couldn't, for the life of him, find it in himself to stop, despite the ache in his chest whenever Keith pulled him in.

Next to him, Keith stirred just a tiny bit, not enough to wake himself up, tangling their limbs together a bit more underneath the blanket. Keith's body was warm and James drew up the cat comparison again. He once thought Keith was heat and fire personified — lively and passionate and singleminded, and could destroy everything he touched for too long. He'd wondered what kind of reaction he'd receive if he said that out loud. He did, but instead of a punch, Keith had dry-heaved and curled in on himself. James never mentioned fire again.

A down-casted gaze showed him Keith's lips, parted slightly in his sleep, ever-so-tempting. James remembered the first time he found those lips on his own, so sudden and quick it was over the second after it started. He recalled the regretful look in Keith's face, the guilt in his averting gaze and the way he bit his lips. James had heard the slight break of his voice, had seen the wet shine to his eyes, and had asked why. Keith glanced down and spilled his guts, after which James looped one arm around Keith's neck and kissed him again. He'd felt the quiver in Keith's lips and whispered into them that he could help. Keith'd pushed him down then, straddling his waist, lips still connected. Everything became blurry and when Keith moaned out "Shiro", James had told him it was fine.

This had become a habit of theirs, which James had brought onto himself for reasons unknown. 

Their first time didn't happen until Keith rushed in, one day, fist clenching and teeth gritting. He'd kissed the life out of James, shoved him down on the bed, and begged, his voice tight and desperate. James found out, later, that Shiro was wearing an engagement ring. 

Keith shifted again beside him, eyes cracking open. James realized he'd been staring, but figured Keith wouldn't care. He leaned in for a peck on the corner of Keith's lips in an imitation of actual lovers, and that hurt, somehow. 

"Hey," James greeted, watching Keith blink himself awake. 

"Mornin', James." Keith's voice was a quiet rasp in the morning. James adored the sound of it.

Keith stretched out on the bed, back cracking, arms thrown over his head and legs untangling from James's own. James missed the heat, but it was made up for by the tiny hum that escaped Keith's throat. Another ray of sunlight shone on Keith as he got out of bed and stood up. Once upon a time, Keith would shy away whenever he was naked outside of sex, but now, the entirety of his body was out in the open for James to silently revel in. Everything about Keith was unfairly enticing, from his long hair to his eyes, his shoulders, back, hands, legs, and all that was in between. He was all within James's view and grasp, now gazing out into the morning sky from the window. 

James sat up to ease the numbness in his shoulder, followed Keith's eyes to the view, and found nothing special in it. He directed his eyes back to Keith. 

There was one time he thought the view from the window exciting — the time he caught the unmistakeable dust trails of two hoverbikes as they flew into the sunset. He knew who was on them, having remembered Keith's back inch by inch, and would recognize it even from a window three stories up. He'd watched as those trails disappeared, then reappeared again when the two riders returned. 

Watching Keith, James realized that perhaps he'd wanted to be on one of those bikes, riding into the sunset. 

"Keith," he called, prompting the other to turn his head, "get back in here or you'll catch a cold." He offered, lifting the corner of the blanket.

Keith moved from the window with a tiny smile, crawling back into the bed and the cover, pressing his now-cold body into James. It was five thirty now, according to the clock by their bedside, meaning they still had another thirty minutes until they really had to wake up. James pulled the cover up for them both and lay back down with one last look to the window.

Once, he'd wondered if Keith would ever ride his hoverbike into the sunset, leaving a dust trail that faded and never appeared again. He thought about himself, too, and entertained the thought of sitting beside the window to watch and watch as the view from there remained unchanged, hoping that it did just a little bit, and hoping that that change was a single trail of dust following a returning hoverbike. James had debated, with himself, the probability of every of that happening, and ultimately decided it'd be better to not bother himself with the possibilities. 

So, for now, he fell back down to bed, left arm pulling Keith flush against himself, watching Keith's eyes flutter shut and doing the same thing.

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from warm body by wild child, which is such a jeith/jaith song it hurts
> 
> yell at my keith-loving ass on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/faceitimanasshole)


End file.
